


Sick Day

by Kaijuscientists



Series: Fictober 2020 [11]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Fever, Gen, Good Parent Gil Arroyo, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Malcolm Bright, Sickfic, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:22:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27201056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaijuscientists/pseuds/Kaijuscientists
Summary: Malcolm tries to go to work sick, Gil isn't having any of it.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Series: Fictober 2020 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949386
Comments: 3
Kudos: 67





	Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

> 25\. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS  
> Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears

“Oh, no.” Gil says the second he sees Malcolm. “Turn around and go home.”

“What?” Malcolm says, feigning innocence, though with his hoarse voice, it doesn’t have the effect he wants. The bags that are normally under his eyes are somehow worse, and he has that glassy look a person gets when they’re battling a fever. 

Gil clocked it immediately, he’s seen Malcolm sick a lot over the years. 

“Bright, do not play dumb with me.”

“Gil, I’m fine.” Malcolm starts to say, only to be cut off by a violent cough he stifles into his elbow.

Gil just stands there, hand on his hips, one eyebrow raised.

“Ok, maybe I'm a little sick.” he concedes. “But it’s just a cold! I’m good to work.”

Gil doesn't even dignify that with a response. 

“Come on Gil, you know I need this.” Malcolm begs. 

“The second, and I mean the exact moment I feel like you’re not as ok as you’re playing at, you’ll go home, even if I have to drive you there myself.”

Malcolm holds up his hands in surrender, 

“Fine, fine.” Malcolm concedes, deflating a little. “You’re the boss.”

“Don’t forget it, Bright.”

\-----------

That afternoon, a scene is called in, and Malcolm has never been happier to have a distraction from the fact that he feels like ass. 

On the way to the crime scene, Gil stops off at a coffee shop and gets him some tea.

“Have you taken anything?” Gil asks, handing him a to-go cup of tea. He’s worried about the kid, the flush spread across his cheeks speaking of a decent fever. 

“Can’t, to many interactions with my other meds.” Malcolm says, taking a sip of the tea, grimacing at the taste. “How much honey is in here?”

“Not enough,” Gil says as they get back on the road. “Just drink it, I want that finished by the time we get there.”

At the scene, Gil gets out of the car, and Malcolm sits for a second in the car. He feels terrible, dizzy in a way that he knows if he stands, he’s gonna fall over. He takes a deep breath, an attempt to center himself and his equilibrium before he levers himself out of the car.

Malcolm's vision dims as soon as he’s upright, he sways backwards, hand’s gripping the car door.

“Whoa, there.” Gil says, coming from around the car, catching Malcolm around his bicep. “Are you gonna pass out?”

Malcolm just shakes his head, breathing out heavily through his nose.

“Don’t think so.” Malcolm says slowly, having to concentrate on his words. “Jus’ dizzy.”

“That’s it, we tried,” Gil says, easily putting Malcolm back into the car, with no fight from the younger man. “You’re going home, wait here for a second.” 

Malcolm has exactly 30 seconds to consider sneaking away before Gil is climbing back into the driver side of the LeMans.

“Take a nap, Bright.” 

By the time Gil pulls up in front of Malcolm’s apartment building, he’s zonked out, snoring in the passenger's seat. It’s really a testament to how bad he must be feeling, that he falls asleep in a moving car. Even more so when he doesn’t even flinch when Gil carries him up the stairs and into his apartment. 

Gil tucks him into his bed and shoots a text off to Jessica. Malcolm would hate him for that later, but it’s for his own good. He presses the back of his fingers to Malcolms forehead, sighing at the temperature. 

Gil wanders into the bathroom, wetting a washcloth. He sits on the edge of Malcolms bed, gently wipes the sweat from Malcolm’s face before laying it over his forehead, figuring it was better than nothing against the fever. 

Lastly, he leaves a glass of water and a note on the bedside table.

_Don’t come back to work until you’re healthy._

_Love,  
Gil”_


End file.
